


Topography

by nekosd43



Series: Scar Stories [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Memories, POV Second Person, Scars, Vignette, so send me ideas, tags are in the chapter notes, updates when I get ideas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosd43/pseuds/nekosd43
Summary: Taako makes an effort NOT to remember his scars.That doesn't mean he doesn't, just that he actively tries not to think about them.A series of vignettes detailing the stories behind them. A companion piece to my other stories "Your Scars are a Roadmap" and "Cartography"I will put tags for each story in the notes for the chapter, so check the notes to see if that vignette is going to be your jam before you read it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains: blood and negative thoughts. Taako swears a bit. Also, a good recipe for carrots. We get the most obvious scar out of the way first.
> 
> I have this exact scar from doing this at work.

Here’s the thing.

You _knew_ what you were getting into.

You don't go into a line of work like this without expecting a _few_ cuts.

But you were more skilled than this.  Way more competent.  A mistake like this one is a _rookie_ mistake.

And you had told yourself that you were _never_ going to be this fucking stupid ever again.

But here you are.

You don’t cook.  Not for anyone you care about.  But you _miss_ it.  You miss the feeling of the heat of the pan and the smell of oils and spices.  You miss that sensation of knowing that something you made has given someone else joy.  Not just that, but a kind of joy essential to their being.  People could live without paintings or music or statues.

No one can live without food.

At least, food that wasn’t _yours_.

God are you stupid.

On some level you knew that offering to help Merle with dinner was a terrible idea.  Merle and Magnus took turns cooking, and in _your_ opinion they were varying degrees of bad at it.  You made sure to criticize them whenever you had the chance, but they let you do it.  They understood.  You had never told them the reason why you threw away everything _you_ cooked, but they hadn’t tried to ask you.  

They simply took your name off the chore wheel for meal prep.

This was good because you were beginning to like these idiots and didn’t want to… well, you didn’t want them to not be there anymore.  And the fact that they didn’t _ask_ was such a relief.  You’d put up with their shitty cooking forever if it meant you wouldn’t have to unpack _that_ particular set of baggage.

But it was really _really_ shitty.

Magnus overcooked _everything_ .  You’re pretty sure the man could overcook water if you let him.  He was easily distracted, and often wandered away from the kitchen as things were cooking.  It wasn’t unusual for the smell of charcoal and smoke to announce that _dinner was “ready”_ if it was Magnus’ night to cook.

You hovered around him, trying to tell him to _use a fucking timer_ or at least his sense of smell to tell when the food was done, but he didn’t seem to care.  It drove you up the goddamn wall.

Merle, on the other hand, knew how to cook food.  What he didn’t grasp was the concept of _seasoning_.  You didn’t know if this was a feature of dwarves or was just something weird about Merle, but he never so much as salted his food.  He’d serve up dishes that looked great but smelled like nothing and tasted just the same.  It was baffling, like some kind of sorcery.

You would try to sneak in hints that he should do _something_ (literally anything please oh god) to spice up (oh god please please _please_ ) his meals, but he would scoff and tell you that all that fancy shit was bad for his heart.

Your heart couldn’t take anymore ruined food.

Food was special to you.  Food gave life and kept families together.  Kept you sane for all those years.  Watching these two well meaning idiots treat it so badly ate away at you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to cook.

But you had to do something.

“Listen, I can’t stand by and be a party to these crimes against the culinary arts,” you cried as you watched Merle bring in groceries from the Fantasy Costco.  “Give me the veggies.  I know you’ve got them held _hostage_ in there.”

“What are you gonna do with ‘em?” Merle asked, hopping up onto his step stool so he could unload the groceries onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m going to rescue them from _you_ ,” you spat.  You held out your hand, and Merle passed over a bushel of carrots with a roll of his eyes.

“All of them.”

He passes the celery with a grin.  Asshole.

You were going to chop and season.  No cooking, just prep work.  Just something small to say that you did something to try to stop this tragedy from unfolding.

It’s been a long time since you’ve used a knife like this.

The rhythm is easy, but you’re sloppy with your fingers.  You don’t curl them under like you _know_ you should to protect them from getting diced.  You space out for a _moment_ , then suddenly a strange stutter in your knife.  You look down.

You’ve sliced through the side of your finger.  Not all the way, but enough for it to bleed.

It’s just a nick, you tell yourself.  Just a little cut.  

The pooling blood on the celery says otherwise.

God why can’t you even do something _simple_?

“Taako, you in… whoa,” Magnus gasped as he entered the kitchen.

You’re standing at the sink, running your hand under cold water, watching a spiral of blood curl around the drain.  He rushed over to you (of course he does) and tried to take your hand.

“Relax Mango it’s just a cut,” you huffed, moving away.

“It’s bleeding pretty bad,” Magnus replied.

“I’m a squirter, okay, I’ve got thin elven skin,” you snapped back, maybe a little terser than you really meant to.

Magnus puts both of his hands up in protest, but doesn’t say anything.  He looks a little hurt.

You are honestly the worst.

“Can you get a bandage?” you said, clearing your throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Magnus replies, moving out of the kitchen to your shared bathroom.  “Of course.”

He returns quickly, and you hold out your hand and let him wrap the small strip of fabric around your middle fingertip.  His hands are rough, but he is gentle as he does it.  Like he’s holding a baby bird.

He probably thinks you’re weak and can’t take it.

Bandaged up, you cast a prestidigitation spell with a wave of your non-injured finger.  The blood wicks away off the cutting board, and you walk over to dump the celery into the trash.

“Anything I can do?” Magnus says.

“Not unless you are any good at getting blood out of produce,” you shrug, lifting the board up with levitation and tipping it into the wastebin.

“No I mean… with… I don’t know…” Magnus is struggling with his words.

It was generally agreed upon that the three of you _did not talk about shit_ .  You all had baggage, but you were making it work, and that meant not asking about _before_.  Your friendship was being suspended in place by this agreement, that if you didn’t talk about your crap, they wouldn’t talk about theirs.

Magnus was threatening to ruin everything by caring too much.

“My dude, shut up and do exactly what I tell you with those carrots,” you sighed, putting your bandaged hand to your face. “I simply cannot deal right now.”

Magnus doesn’t argue.  He moves to the cutting board and grabs the knife.  You pass him the carrots and instruct him to chop.

You watch him, like he’s your sous chef, and that’s a strange feeling.

It’s not entirely unwelcome.

Eventually you have him putting them in a pot with butter, brown sugar and a little white pepper.  You don’t touch anything.  You can’t.  You simply give instructions.  He listens and obeys and doesn’t say a word.

You’re grateful for that.  

You write cooking instructions on a spare piece of parchment and stick the covered pot into the fridge for Merle.

For once, dinner isn’t terrible.

Well, Merle’s fish is _abysmal_ (honestly HOW do you remove the taste from _fish_ ), but your glazed carrots are baller.

Well, you suppose they’re really _Magnus’_ carrots. Since _he_ made them.

You just fucking cut your finger off.

“Thanks for the _help_ , Taako,” Merle says.

“No I didn’t do anything,” you grumble.  “Magnus did all the work.”

“These are so good, Taako!” Magnus says with a smile.

“Yeah… good job with that,” you sigh in return.

“No I mean, this is a great recipe,” Magnus insists. “Thanks for sharing it with me, you’re really an excellent cook.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

It’s working.  Kind of.

“Yeah well don’t expect to have it happen very often,” you laugh.  “I’m not taking on more chores.”

You may not be ready to get back in the kitchen, but it’s nice to know you still have some skill.  As you watch Magnus eat the carrots, you feel a little lighter.  You remember the good that food does for you.  For a minute, you even let yourself feel good about it.

The carrots do taste amazing.

There are no leftovers, for the first time in a very long time.

Fucking rad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains Lup, blood, parental abandonment, and talks about gender and pronouns. Taako is trans too in this universe, and I think him and Lup both figured out really early on in their lives that everyone had their genders mixed up. I also don't think they changed their names, I don't believe Elves in this universe would usually have gendered names like humans do. They obviously have the concept of gender, but it isn't heavily reinforced in their language (hence the non-gendered pronouns).
> 
> Aunt Lorraine's name is taken from insertdisk5's headcannon on tumblr because it was such a good name.

It started when you were very young.

“Taako, bubbale, you shouldn’t run in the house!”

You are staying with an aunt.  No one wants to say why, but you and Lup know the truth.  You can see it in Aunt Lorraine’s eyes as she puts you to bed at night.  The two of you glance at each other in the dark, unsure what to do.

Your parents are not coming back.

It’s not like you were particularly _close_ to them.  This wasn’t even the first time you had been passed off to a relative with very little explanation.  You’re still very young, but you know when you’re not wanted.

Normally the birth of twins was a celebrated event in elven culture, one that the entire clan would help with.  Twins were raised by everyone in the village, and everyone helped feed and clothe them.

But your parents didn’t live in a village.

They were merchants, and they traveled. They barely made ends meet.  When your mother got pregnant, there had been talk among her relatives that the financial cost would be a strain on the marriage.

If there had only been _one_ of you, it probably would have been okay.

Twins were a blessing and a curse, Aunt Lorraine would say.

You slow yourself, coming to a halt just in front of the fire.

“Aunt Lorraine, why aren’t you yelling at Lup?” you cried, “She’s running too!”

“ _He’s_ a gentleman, not a young lady like you,” your aunt corrected, “Watch your pronouns when speaking Common.”

Lup looked at you.  In Elvish you would say _se_ when talking about Lup, and Lup would use the same for you.  You didn’t fully get this idea of using a different word for the two of you, but Lup was Lup and you knew she was _she._ You were still new to speaking Common, but you were pretty sure you hadn’t messed _that_ up.  Meeting eyes with Lup confirmed what you thought.   _She_ was the right word for Lup.

“Lup is the young lady, _I_ am the gentleman!” you shouted, stamping your feet.

Your aunt sighed.  “Oh, is this the game you are playing right now?  I’m sorry my little beans.”

She was kind, but she didn’t understand either of you.  Looking back, you suspect she hadn’t spent much time around kids before this.  She tried, but the two of you were a lot to handle.  She _was_ one of the only people who could tell you apart, though.

Lup and you were not identical twins.  True identical twins were extremely rare in most species.  But you wouldn’t know that from looking at the pair of you.  Equally tanned, equally dirty, with equally messy blonde hair, long and tied into equal length braids.  You both wore plain tunics and no shoes.  Adults in your lives had tried to get you two to be _different_ , to dress different or cut your hair different or just _look like a brother and sister_ instead of… whatever it was that you did.  But you hated being forced to do anything, and Lup never quite felt comfortable either.

You switched clothes all the time and no one noticed anyway.

Well, no one except Aunt Lorraine.

“Taako honey I just don’t want you to trip, you’re right by the hearth,” she sighed.  “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

You huff in response, because you thought it unfair to only yell at _you_.  Lup was running near the hearth as well!  You were chasing her!  Why was it okay for her to run but not you?

You two were the same.

“Taako, she just doesn’t want you to hit your head and _cry_ ,” Lup teases, coming over to take your hand.

“I wouldn’t cry!” you stammer, “Gentlemen don’t cry!”

Fifteen minutes later though, you’re lying on the ground, a gash on your forehead.  And you are _sobbing._

“I’m sorry!” Lup cries too, nervously flapping her hands and glancing around, “I’m sorry!  Please don’t cry!  Auntie will hear you!”

But the blood is dripping down your face and you are bawling.  It doesn’t really _hurt_ , but the shock of tripping and hitting your head had scared you.  And once you got started, Lup started crying too.

Aunt Lorraine finds you both in a panic.  You brace yourself, expecting her to yell.

But she doesn’t scold you.  That’s almost worse.

Gently picking you up in her arms, she takes you into the kitchen, Lup tottering behind her sniffling quietly.  

“My sweet little beans,” she sighs, “Didn’t I warn you this would happen?”

She sets you down on the counter.

“It’s my fault!” Lup cried, tears streaming down her face as she clutched at your aunt’s skirt.  “I was chasing Taako and I know you said _not_ to run but I did and he _tripped_ and _I’m so sorry Taako_!”

You sniffle, expecting her to correct Lup, but she doesn’t.  Instead, she takes a damp cloth, and begins to dab at your forehead.

“You’re gonna be okay, bubbale,” she quietly tuts.

You’re trying to understand why she’s suddenly being so nice, but you can’t.  You almost want her to yell.  At least then you would _get it_ .  You did something you weren’t supposed to. _Why wasn’t she mad?_

“Taako, honey,” she’s examining the cut closely.  It spreads up your temple, disappearing into your hairline, “I’m sorry but we’re gonna have to cut your hair so I can stitch this up.”

Your eyes go wide with panic.  Cut your hair?  But then you and Lup…  You shake your head.

“Honey we aren’t going to argue about this,” she sighs, “You’re gonna look a little different for a little while, but you need stitches.”

“I don’t want to be different than Lup!” you sob, trying to wiggle off the counter but your aunt holds you in place

“Please no Auntie!” Lup cries, clutching even tighter to her skirt.  “Don’t make Taako different forever!”

She ignores your desperate pleas as she takes some scissors from a nearby drawer and gets to work.

You and Lup both cry the whole time, like she’s cutting off a part of you that made you who you were.

Later that night, you are in the bathroom, standing on the edge of your stepstool, looking at yourself in the mirror.

It’s a hack job for sure.  She simply cut the hair on one side of your head short and close to your scalp, and left the other side long, intending to part your hair the other way to cover it up.  You examine the cut, sewn up with black thread.  It’s ugly, and you hate it.  It makes you look _different_.  You don’t want to look different.  You feel yourself starting to cry again when you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door.

“ _Taako_!” came a hiss.  “It’s me, open the door!”

You hop off the stepstool and wipe your face on your sleeve.  When you open the door, Lup is waiting for you.

She’s holding Aunt Lorraine’s scissors.

“Hurry up and shut the door before she hears us,” Lup whispers, climbing up to look at herself in the mirror.

“What are you gonna do with those?” you ask.

“She messed us up, I’m gonna fix what she did,” Lup says, grabbing a chunk of her own hair and - _snip-_ letting it fall into the sink.

“Lup!” you cry, climbing up with her. “You’re gonna get in trouble!”

She turns to you and smiles, a huge bald patch on the side of her head.

“How do I look?” she smiles, and you start to smile too.

You both laugh.

“Here.”  She grabs a handful of your remaining hair.  “Let me fix yours too.”

You spend the night, giggling in front of the mirror, taking turns cutting hair from each other until there’s hardly any left.

In the morning, Aunt Lorraine doesn’t seem to notice the change you’ve undergone, but you can’t imagine how she couldn’t.  Your hair is _gone_ , and Lup’s is hacked up to match.  You’re both made to clean up all the hair, but she doesn’t scold you.  In fact, she only has one thing to say at all.

“Haircuts are temporary,” she laughs.  “Siblings are forever.”

Maybe she understands the two of you better than you thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Tieflings, and minor talk of DnD racial profiling. A lot of swearing. Cheating at cards. Self-deprecating thoughts.
> 
> I place this as some time after Sizzle it Up but before Phandalin. (Sazed was a Tiefling.)

Of all the ways to die, this was not in your top ten.

You had always envisioned yourself going out in a way that wouldn’t leave a corpse.  That just seemed right.  Or, if you  _ had _ to leave something behind, it would be pristine and intact.  Like it would get up and walk off if  _ you _ hadn’t left it.

Bleeding out of your gut on a filthy stable floor was probably not even in your top 30 if you were being honest.

Fucking perfect.

“Gods you talk a lot,” your attacker says, pulling back their knife.

Oh, guess you said that out loud.

How did you even get here?

Yes, you were cheating at cards.  You’re not actually sure if you know how to play  _ without _ cheating.  But it was legit cheating, no magic.  Okay, a  _ little _ magic.  But no transmutation.  You weren’t altering the cards, just making them appear and disappear.

You had a sizable pile of gold coins when he showed up at the table.  You dealt him in, and within moments, you knew.  This Tiefling was a cheater too.

Tieflings weren’t  _ all _ bad, you knew that.  Heck, you knew better than anyone that how you were raised isn’t any indication of how you’ll turn out.  Just because Tieflings were related to demons (distantly) didn’t mean they were all evil.  The only one  _ you _ had been close to had been shit, but you hung out with shitty people, and really, how many Tieflings did you  _ know _ ?  So maybe this one was actually a super nice person.

A super nice person who cheats at cards.

He’s a good cheater, like, he’s not gonna get caught unless you call him out, but he’s cheating all the same.  And he’s making eye contact with you across the table, as a true cheater can.  He knows.  He knows, and you both make a silent pact not to oust each other.  You can see it in his eyes as they dart across the table.  The two of you will make good money here if you just let things go.

You take turns losing.  Some of it is genuine, a silent battle of cards materializing under the table and tucked inside sleeves.  You’re shocked you never manage to step on each others cheat-toes.  The whole thing would go tits up if you both played the  _ same _ cards.

He’s a handsome Tiefling, but you don’t want to examine  _ that _ thought and what it might say about your preferences.  He’s also pretty likable, making jokes with the table and smiling all around.  He had nice teeth, firm jaw.  Filled his horns down to small bumps.  You see his tail flicking around behind him as he laughs.  Sure, he’s a cheater, but he locks eyes with you and smiles and you kinda feel warm, and you kinda  _ like _ that he’s cheating because it’s something you have in common.  It’s your little secret with your unspoken partner in crime.

After a couple hours and a couple drinks, most of the bar is avoiding the table, and you and the Tiefling are left alone.  You both begin to sweep your winnings into your purses.

You ended up with more coins than him, but you give him a nod when he glances at you.  People caught on to cheaters if they  _ always _ won.  Alternating the winner kept the heat off of both of you.  It was a good con, you would have no problem splitting the winnings evenly.  It was only fair.  Plus, you know.  Maybe this might go somewhere.

He makes a motion with his head to indicate that you should meet him outside, and then he pays his tab and leaves.  You spend another minute hanging around and finishing your drink.

It was so rare that you took up a partner.  Partners made things complicated, but a good partner could also increase your effectiveness in the con game.

When you head outside, you try to keep an open mind.

“Nice cards,” he says as you round the corner.

“Thanks, I make them myself,” you say dryly.  “I suppose you’re expecting your half.”

“I mean, I did half the work,” he laughs, gesturing back towards the stables.  “Let’s get out of the open air before we start counting money.”

Alarms are going off in your head.  You’re a suspicious person, as only the most suspicious people of all can be.  But at the same time…

Look, there’s a part of you… and it’s a very  _ small _ part… that  _ wants _ a friend.  It’s a very very  _ tiny _ part.  But you miss having someone at your side when you were on the road.  It had been awhile since…  And you weren’t a total lone wolf!  You did alright by yourself, but everyone craves a little company every now and then!  There’s a part of you that doesn’t feel complete without an accomplice, a right-hand man.  A scapegoat?  A  _ partner _ .

Again, you don’t want to think too deep about that and what that says about you.

So you follow him into the stable, because maybe those nice teeth weren’t  _ always _ telling lies.  Maybe he was feeling like it was time to have a travelling companion too.

It’s dark, but you both can see just fine.  His eyes glint silver in the darkness, and the two of you pull open your coin purses and dump them out onto the floor.

“So we split it, right?” he says.

“For sure,” you reply.  “Thanks for the help.  I mean, I was doing okay before you showed up but-”

“Can we just count it?” he sighs.

All told, the two of you made about 347 gold pieces, and a handful of silvers and coppers.  You sorted the coins into two equal piles in the darkness.

He doesn’t talk, so you try to break the silence.

“So, uh, we made a pretty good team in there,” you stammer, “and I was wondering if-”

“Kinda rude to make a proposition without introducing yourself,” the Tiefling laughs.

You finish putting your coins into your purse.  “Oh shit my bad.  Name is Taako.”  You extend your hand.

He does as well.

It’s got a knife in it.

You’re so  _ incredibly  _ stupid.

It’s fast, but he buries his knife into a space just above your hip.  You gasp.

“... Fucking perfect.”

“Gods you talk a lot.”

He grabs both of your purses and darts to the door.

“Elves are so fucking gullible,” you hear him laugh, and then he was gone.

Which is how you got here.

You collapse to the ground, clutching the hole in your stomach.  It’s more the shock than the pain, but it does really hurt.  You curl around yourself, putting pressure to the wound with your bare hands.

You strongly consider just bleeding out on the shit-covered floor to save yourself the embarrassment.  Rolling onto your knees, you weakly pull yourself to a sitting position.

You deserved this.  Of  _ course _ that guy was going to betray you.  You’re an easy mark because you want so badly for people to like you.  You’re gullible.  You’re weak.  You’re fucking crying on the floor and sitting in poop because you thought maybe this time it would be different.  Maybe this time you’d made a connection with someone.

It was time to face facts.

You weren’t worth the time.

You get to your feet, shaky but determined, and you walk back to the entrance to the bar, still clutching your side.

You enter, and everyone stares as you work your way up to the counter to make an order.

Then everything goes black.

You wake up in a hospital, and a Cleric is stitching up your wound.  She doesn’t say anything (thank the gods), but she looks at you with eyes that say it all.

What were you expecting?

You’re so fucking stupid.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: boy detective and very good friend Angus McDonald. That's it, this one is pretty tame. I'd place this sometime after Lunar Interlude 3 but before Eleventh Hour.
> 
> It's hard to write these in regards to things he does or doesn't remember about his childhood, since I feel like memories of learning magic and Lup would be deeply intertwined. I think taking her out of the narrative also takes any positive feedback or feelings he was getting at the time.

“The most important thing is looking cool.”

“What about… safety?”

“That’s also important, but you should look cool while being safe.”

“What about caring for the people who care about you?”

“Could you shut up for a second sweetheart?”

You would never tell anyone this, but Angus was getting pretty good at magic.  You probably should have expected that someone who was smart enough to be a detective at the age of ten would be a fast learner.  You were too at that age, but he’s picking up things much faster than your self-taught ass did.  Probably because he has a proper teacher.

You’re down on the surface of Faerun, in a forest clearing.  There were training facilities on the Moon, but honestly you didn’t want anyone to know about you taking in the kid under your wing.  People would think you were starting to go soft.

Okay… Softer.

You say that it was important to look cool, but Angus has honestly never looked cool in his life as far as you can tell.  He’s wearing shorts and  _ knee high _ socks and shiny black shoes!  He has a dorky hat with a feather in it and a little  _ half cape _ !  He has a fucking  _ lanyard _ for his wand, in case he drops it!  He’s like a black hole from which no coolness can escape.  You watch him push his giant glasses up the bridge of his nose.

He’s starting to grow on you.

Which is why you are down here in the first place.

“What are we working on today, sir?”

You smile.  “Definitely on the coolness.”

Angus frowns in response.  “Well that’s… Sir that’s not exactly helpful.”

“Ango, be real with me for a second.”  You sit down in the grass, and motion for him to sit next to you.  “You’re a huge nerd, right?”

He sits down next to you sheepishly, “I mean, my grandpa told me not to brag, but I am much more intelligent than the average boy.”

“A nerd, right,” you sigh.  “Do you have  _ any _ friends your age?”

“I live on the Moon and there aren’t a lot of kids on the Moon…” he says, looking at his lap uncomfortably.

“How about before the Moon?”

“Well before the Moon I worked with the Neverwinter Police, so there wasn’t much time to…”

“You don’t have any friends your own age,” you sigh, “Super uncool.”

Angus huffs indignantly.  “Sir I don’t appreciate you bringing me down here just to insult me.”

He’s looking at you with a mix of sadness and anger.  He knows you joke.  At least, you hope he does.  But you’ve never been good at knowing where the line was.  And as you see the tiniest hint of tears welling up in his eyes, you know you’ve done it again.

“Ango.”

“Sir I know I’m not the most threatening person,” he sniffs, holding back tears, “but I want to learn and I don’t think it’s fair of you to hold me at arm’s length like this.”

You’re terrible with kids.  You probably learned that from your Aunt Lorraine.

“Angus I…” you pause, unsure how to continue.  “I just think you should have more friends.”

“I have friends, sir,” he replies firmly.  “I have you and Magnus and Merle, and Ms. Carey and Ms. Killian, and the Director, and Avi and Johan and-”

“I meant friends your own age.”

“Frankly sir, I don’t see why that’s any of your business.”

He wouldn’t of course, because he’s much more well adjusted at ten than you’ve ever been in your whole life.  He’s got no way of knowing that the kid you’re worried about, growing up alone without friends, used magic as a way to make people like him.  That he learned whatever spell he could pick up from whoever would teach him because it was the only way he could think of to make himself useful.  That this kid was reckless in his need for approval, and that it ruined him in the end.

But Angus isn’t you.

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

“Sir?”

He’s looking at you confused, because you never apologize.  But you’re not about to start explaining yourself now.

“How about that magic lesson then?”

Angus nods, and gets up off the ground.

He doesn’t press you any further, which you know must be hard for him because there’s a mystery to be solved.  But he’s got a lot of empathy for a child.

Probably more than you have in your entire body.

“What do you want to learn?”

“Uh, I mean, if you  _ want _ to teach me a cool thing,” Angus mutters, “I’d be okay with that.”

“Oh hell yeah,” you laugh.  “That’s my boy!”

You point the Umbra staff at a log about a dozen feet away, casting a spell toward it with a flick of your wrist and a muttered elvish word.  The log erupts into a steady flame, like a campfire, and you look at Angus with a smile.  He’s clutching his wand with both hands, a look of awe in his eyes.

“Come on my man, you’ve seen me cast Fire Bolt before,” you sigh.

“It’s not that sir, it’s…” Agnus pushes his glasses up his nose again.  “It’s just you  _ do _ look cool.”

“It’s hard not to look cool when you’re doing magic,” you admit, seeing yourself again in the boy’s eager eyes.  “Magic is inherently cool.”

You take Angus’ hand, and he looks up at you with a smile.

“So what should I do?” he asks, gripping his wand tight in his other hand.

“We’re gonna learn Pyrotechnics,” you explain.  “It’s a good spell for distracting people, but it also looks  _ super _ cool.”

You teach him the word for fire in Elvish, which is used in most fire-based magic.  He nods diligently, but you can tell from the look in his eye that he already knows it.  You show him the proper way to extend his wand, and how to move his wrist like he’s striking a match in order to start the spell.  After a first, second, and a third a sharp flick, the log’s flames change from reds and oranges to sparkling greens and blues.  And with a sizzle and a high-pitched whistle, a pop of brilliant fireworks bloomed just above the ground.

“I did it sir!” Angus cried.

He usually got it within a few tries, so you’re not surprised.  It’s a pretty basic spell.  But you beam at him as if it was a monumental task.  You want him to feel good.  You wish someone had done that for you when you were learning, instead of you feeling nothing and trying to fill that void with more magic.

Suddenly, there’s a deafening pop, and sparks shoot out from the log in a radiant blast.  Without thinking, you throw yourself over Angus, back turned to the fire.  A few embers shower your back, and a few singe your bare shoulders.  A peppering of burns to go with your freckles.  

You cast a hurried prestidigitation spell and extinguish the flames before they can cause any more harm.

“Oh my goodness sir!” Angus cried.  “Are you alright?”

“Me nothing, did you get burned?” you stammer, pushing him away.

“I’m okay sir,” Angus assures you.  “Did you burn yourself?”

You won’t hear his questions until you check him over.  Not a scratch or burn in sight.  Only then do you try to look over your shoulder.

No major harm is done, but those tiny blisters stand out on your delicate skin.

“Magic is cool and all,” you sigh, “But it’s always just a little bit dangerous.”

“That’s why we should be  _ safe _ while we look cool,” Angus jokes, and you ruffle his hat against his head.

“Yeah… Angus?”

“Yes sir?”

“You better not fucking tell anyone about me doing this.”

He promises, and you know he’ll keep it.  You’re not ready to let everyone know how much you care.  How much it scares you to lose another person because of your magic.  Maybe someday.  The tiny scars from the embers last a long time.

You tell Magnus you got a sunburn.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of child slavery and kidnapping. Also Lup.
> 
> This one is pretty brutal in terms of pain factor. I don't describe the injury in too much detail, but there is some, so take care of yourself.

“Hang in there okay?  Just hang on!”

Lup supports your weight, draping your arm over her shoulder so you can take the pressure off your leg.  And  _ god _ do you need to take pressure off your leg.  Every time your heart beats there is a painful throb through your right leg, starting at your ankle and shuddering up to your hip.  You lift your foot off the ground, and that hurts too, but at least you’re not standing on it anymore.

Neither of you know any healing magic.

The crossbow bolt is as thick as your finger, and is going directly through your ankle.  You’re amazed it didn’t sever any tendons, but it  _ definitely  _ chipped the bone.  You felt  _ that _ jolt through your whole body when it happened.  Blood is pouring down your foot, soaking your deerskin shoes.  Lup tried to carry you, but she wasn’t fast enough with you weighing her down.  The best she could do was help you walk.

And you had to  _ run _ .

They could be following you still.  You had made it into the forest, and that gave you the advantage, but that didn’t mean you weren’t being tracked.  It didn’t mean that they would give up on finding you.  They’d be fools to give up so quickly.

Young elves sold for a lot in certain circles.   _ Twin  _ elves even more so.

“I’m so stupid,” you choke out through another spasm of pain, and Lup does her best to try and take on even more of your weight as she almost drags you through the undergrowth of the forest.

“Stop talking,” she grunts in response, “focus on walking.”

“We’re going to die,” you sob, the pain sending another wracking shudder up your spine.  “We’re going to  _ die _ and it’s all  _ my _ fault!”

Lup stops, putting a hand to your face.

“Taako.  Taako?  Listen to me Taako,” she looks grave as she speaks to you.  “I refuse to die like this.  I need you to get it together.”

“They’re gonna catch us,” you can’t stop crying.  “I’m slowing you down, you should run while you can.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she affirms, looking you in the eye.  “I won’t let them take you.”

She needs you to be quiet, but it’s difficult.  You do your best not to wail, to keep your sobs in your chest where they don’t make a sound.  You’re terrified of what will happen if they catch you.

You had heard the rumors in town about slave traders in the area, but you hadn’t considered that they would be so  _ bold _ .  The two of you had been sleeping outside for the past few weeks, waiting for a caravan in need of some extra helping hands.  You didn’t have the money for staying at an Inn  _ and _ feeding yourselves, so you made it work in a back alley behind a blacksmith.  You had been there for about a week.  It was warm, and the smithy seemed kind enough to turn a blind eye to you.  He even left out some hay for you to sleep on and a crust of bread on occasion.  Lup always insisted on taking shifts sleeping, but it had been a long day and you were both exhausted.

“I’ll just cast Alarm,” you said.  “It will wake us up if anyone comes within ten feet of us.”

“Won’t that just go off if the smithy is on the other side of the wall?” Lup asked.

“I can specify certain creatures as immune to it, so I’ll just make it so he doesn’t trip it,” you explained, casting the spell with a wave of your hand.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”  She looks around nervously.

“He’s been really nice,” you assure her.  “Most people would have chased us out by now.”

You were so foolish.

Some time just before sunrise, the smithy came and grabbed you both.  You’re startled awake as he presses a rag soaked with something that smells like a healing potion to your mouth, and then suddenly you’re out again.

You wake up in a carriage.

Lup is on the floor, but starting to come around.  You’re surrounded by half a dozen human looking children and young folk snatched off the street for a few coins.  Your arms are bound behind you, and you curse yourself for being so trusting.

You’re such an idiot.

“Lup!” you hiss as her eyes flutter open.

“Taako?” she hums, slowly coming to.  She looks around the caravan, and her eyes go wide with fear.

Slave traders loved elves.  They made good servants if you got them young enough to beat the pride out of them, and they were particularly well liked in some circles for their beauty.  Your aunt had warned you not to trust people when you left to travel the world, because beauty is seen as a weakness and something others can claim for their own.

You knew that.  Why hadn’t you been more careful?

“Taako don’t freak out,” Lup says, sitting up off the floor.  Her arms are bound as well, but she gets to her feet after a bit of a struggle.  She sways with the motion of the caravan, and moves to the back of the cart.  “Is everyone in here okay?”

Some scared faces nod, but no one speaks

“Lulu we have to get out of here!” you cry in a panic, “You know what Aunt Lorraine said about elves and slave traders!”

“Oh we’re getting out,” she said, a determined look passing over her face.  But you… you’re feeling more and more helpless by the second.

Most magic worth casting required use of your hands.  Somatic spells needed at least one hand to move in the proper gesture in order for the spell to work.  You imagine that is why your hands were tied together.  You feel useless without magic, and you shake your head in a panic.

“Lulu we  _ can’t _ , we can’t use magic!” you cry, and you’re really crying now.  You’re so afraid.  You don’t think you’ve ever been this afraid before.  “We can’t use our  _ hands _ !”

She moves to you and kneels in front of you.

“Taako,” she is quiet, barely audible over the rumbling of the wheels on the dirt road.  “I know you’re scared, but I need you to focus.  Our hands  _ are _ tied up.  But  _ you _ can get us out.  You are better at transmutation than I am.”

A thousand spells are running through your head as you glance around the cart.  Something you can do.  Something you can do with transmutation.  Something that can be done without use of your hands…  Your eyes fall on the locked door keeping you trapped inside this carriage.

Knock doesn’t require your hands to cast it.

Standing up, you move to the door and in a shaky voice say “ _ Edr-fen.” _  The door pops open with a loud knock, and the caravan shudders to a stop.

You don’t wait.  You and the other children run for the door in a panic.  Lup is the last one out, but she does get out.

You’re on an empty road in the middle of nowhere.  You can see, about a mile to the east, a forest.

“Run!” Lup screams, dashing towards the trees.  You follow, heart beating heavily in your chest.

The other kids scatter, but you stay focused on the tree line.  Once you make it into the forest, you’ll be able to hide.  You might be able to avoid them long enough to make an escape.

Three orcs are shouting, something loud and angry and orcish.  You try not to look behind you as you run, because it will only slow you down.  They would have to catch you.  You do your best to keep pace with your sister, always a few steps behind her.  The trees grow closer and closer and it looks like you’re going to make it.

Then the jolt that shuddered through your whole body hits your ankle, and you go down like a sack of stones.

You’re screaming.  You’re on fire.  Your leg refuses to work.  You try to get to your knees and crawl but even that is sending shocks of pain through your whole body.  You can hear Lup yelling, pleading with you to get up, but you can’t.  You can’t.

You simply can’t.

She runs back to you and does the best she can with her bound hands to help you to your feet.

“You have to run!” she says and you almost want to laugh because it doesn’t feel like you have a foot anymore.  But you do what she says, and every time your heel hits the dirt it sends lightning to your brain.  You’re twenty steps from the trees.  Eighteen.  Every step is a lifetime of pain.  Fifteen.  You’re going to die.  Ten.  Surely they’ve caught up with you by now.  Seven.  You’re not in control anymore, you’re pushed forward by a momentum and fear you’ve never experienced.  Five...  Four… Three…  You throw yourself towards the trees with what strength you have left… and then you are in their shadows.

You keep running until you can’t hear the orcs anymore.

Lup crouches down and pulls her legs through her arms to bring her hands in front of her.  You can’t… you can’t do anything but stumble forwards.  The idea of moving your legs in that way hurts to  _ think  _ about right now.  She starts to gnaw at the ropes holding her hands in place, and luckily they are thin enough that she can chew through.  Once she is free, she unties you, and wraps your arm around her shoulder.

It is then that you actually see the crossbow bolt for the first time.

“Hang in there okay?  Just hang on!”

You walk for three days without stopping.  You can’t stop.  You don’t know if you’re being followed.  And either way, you have to get help.  You have nothing, nothing to trade for medical equipment or treatment, but you have to trust  _ someone _ will.

_ Trust _ .

You feel like you’ve used up what little trust you had left.

When you emerge from the forest, you’re lucky enough to see a monastery.  Lup drags you to the front door and it opens just as you pass out from the pain.

When you awake, your leg is bandaged, and the bolt is gone.

Your aunt had warned you not to trust people.

You’re starting to think she was right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY IT'S BACK HERE'S HOPING I'M OVER THE BLOCK I HAD FOR THIS FIC.
> 
> Contains: a vague description of a claustrophobia/agoraphobia-induced panic attack (could be either but it's not specified exactly what it is). A tiny bit of blood. Fear of being abandoned/fear of being mugged. Taako has walls that have a hard time coming down.
> 
> I'd put this some time around Petals to the Metal.

If someone can touch you, they are too close.

This was a general hard rule for you on and off the battlefield.  You did not let people touch you.  You did not let people get that close.

It worked since you were a wizard.  Sure, you had some close range spells, but you’d rather anything that could potentially hurt you be dead before it got within ten feet of you.

But you had difficulty identifying what would or wouldn’t hurt you.

Magnus Burnsides was a touchy person.

He wanted high fives after the smallest victories.  He wanted hugs over the smallest defeats.  It was maddening to have him near you, knowing he might  _ touch _ you at any point.  No warning, just a hand on your shoulder while you were lost in thought or a nudge in the ribs while you were talking.

He’d been singed a few times by hastily withdrawn Burning Hands spells before he got the message.

You do not touch Taako.

You could not differentiate between friend and foe.

Merle was a little easier.

The cleric had no interest in patting you on the shoulder or offering an unwanted hug.  But he was short, just below your eye level.  Sometimes you didn’t always see him until he was  _ right there _ in your space.  You’d tripped over him more than enough times to make it irritating.

Having both of them living in the same shared space with you was a nightmare.

Of course, they grew to understand you.  They let you push them away, as you must push everyone away.

You can’t get hurt if they can’t get close.

“Hey Taako, we’re heading down to Neverwinter, you want to join us?”

You look up from the tome you are reading at Magnus, who has his backpack slung over one shoulder.  He’s smiling, but he’s keeping his distance from you, staying back at the door frame until you invite him into the room.  He’s learning.  It’s like training an excitable puppy but he’s  _ learning _ .

“Why Neverwinter?” you ask, turning the page of your book.

“Merle needs some gardening tool they don’t sell at Fantasy Costco,” Magnus shrugged, “And I just want to get off the moon.”

“Amen to that,” you say, snapping your book closed.  “Alright, let’s go.  Need some spell components anyway.”

You enjoy going to Protector’s Enclave, but not the crowds that gather there.  You wish the two weren’t so deeply intertwined.  The sights and sounds of venders was exciting.  Looking at their wares was always interesting.  The feeling of being pressed against hundreds of other people, not so much.  You’d gotten used to the idea of it over the years.  You don’t work in caravans without spending some time in marketplaces.  But you felt a panic in your chest from time to time.  A feeling of overwhelming fear as you were surrounded by people you didn’t know.   What if they tried to touch you?  What if one of them tried to  _ hurt _ you?

You had been hurt many times.

“Maybe I’ll… Maybe I’ll just wait in the town square,” you say, seeing the teeming crowd in the Seven Suns marketplace.

“I thought you said you had shopping to do,” Merle said, getting ready to wade through a sea of shins.

“I just realized I can get it cheaper at the Fantasy Costco,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice calm.  “They always gouge the prices here.  Guess I came down for nothing.  You two go on, I’ll hang back here...”

“Hey Taako,” Magnus said softly as you feel your ears press against your head.  “It’s okay.  You don’t have to go alone.”

He’s smiling and it’s just so  _ earnest _ .  You realize just how much he’s learned about you in such a short amount of time.  You wonder how that happened when you worked so hard to keep him arm’s length away.

You suppose Magnus is just good at reading people.

Merle is off without saying anything.  He’s probably used to navigating crowds like this.  Being so low to the ground makes the terrain totally different for him, and he doesn’t get hung up like a human-sized person would.  You know he’ll make it back with no problem.

On the other hand, Magnus is big, and following him cuts a path through the crowds.  His broad shoulders and towering demeanor makes people step out of the way of him (out of fear?  Respect?  How could anyone be afraid of this idiot?), leaving you room to safely walk behind him without being crowded by strangers.  They watch you as you walk through the waves Magnus has parted, and you feel strangely exposed.

You don’t know if this is better or worse.

“Where we headed?” Magnus asks, looking around.

“Tymore Street,” you say, trying not to get caught up watching people watching you.  In the deafening roar of people going about their day.  Gods there are a lot of people here.

You think you spot someone giving you a dirty look, and you stop for a second.  Everyone is looking at you and it’s so much and it’s so  _ loud _ and you’re feeling that crushing feeling in your chest as you realize you’re surrounded by strangers, any one of which could hurt you.  You’re all alone.

But you realize you’re being ridiculous.  Nobody is watching you.  You’re safe.  You’re here with-

Someone elbows you in the stomach as they press in closer.

You look over, but Magnus is gone.

Instantly you start to panic.  You can’t see Magnus, and the crowd has closed back in on you.  In the moment you had stopped, Magnus had kept going towards the shop.

You  _ were _ alone.

“Shit shit  _ shit _ ,” you hiss, trying to keep calm.  “Focus Taako.  He’s going to the shop, you just have to catch up with him.”

Suddenly something is grabbing your wrist, and you are wrenched into a side alley.

“ _ Quiet _ .”

A hand claps over your mouth, and a knife is pressed to your neck.  With wide eyes you see a human bandit, pressing into you with a fierce look in his eyes as a partner hold your arms from behind.

“Give us gold and we won’t have any trouble,” he mutters, and he makes sure you know that his knife is sharp as he presses a little harder into your neck.

You try to struggle against his partner’s hold, but they both laugh a little.

“Look we know you’ve got it on you with how nice you’re dressed,” the bandit explains, glancing you over with a stern look.  “Let’s make this easy.”

You’re nervous with your hands bound and your mouth covered.  No chance of casting any spells.  But adrenaline is starting to kick in, and you realize you’re probably better equipped to deal with these idiots than they realize.  

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

You bite the hand over your mouth and do your best to sweep the leg out from under the one holding your arms, startling them both.  The one behind you releases you in an attempt to catch himself, and the one with the knife pulls back for a moment, swearing.  

Hands free and mouth clear, you gesture quickly shouting “ _ Heleg!” _  A blue white light erupts from your fingertips and snakes around your attackers in lightning bolt ropes.  The alley is alight with your magics, and you can see the fear in the bandit’s eyes.

You hope they’re scared to death.

When the light fades, they are frozen solid to the ground.

Suddenly another hand touches your shoulder, and you spin around with a shout, hands alight with arcane spells.

“Taako thank gods!” Magnus said, magic lighting his face in the dark alleyway.  “I’m  _ so _ sorry, I should have been… You’re bleeding!”

You put a hand to your throat and feel the warm liquid there.  It probably looks pretty bad, but you’re pretty sure they just nicked an artery.  You pull your fingers away and they are stained red.

“I’m really  _ really _ sorry,” Magnus sputtered, handing over a stained handkerchief, “I thought you were behind me the whole time but then I got to the crossroads and… Shit I’m  _ so sorry _ dude.  This should have  _ never _ happened.”

“It’s cool,” you try to brush it off, casting Prestidigitation to clean your hand and taking Magnus’ offering to press to your throat.  “I was able to take care of them.”

“That’s not the point,” Magnus said, “You shouldn’t have  _ had _ to.  You shouldn’t have been alone.  That was shitty of me to leave you behind like that.”

You realize that Magnus is somehow making this his fault, even though this never would have happened if you were able to walk around in crowds without having a panic attack.  If you hadn’t stood there like an idiot and stared off into the crowd, making yourself look like the easiest mark in Neverwinter.  You want to tell him not to take it personally.  That you’re the fuck up.  You’re the one who got yourself into this mess.

“Yeah well it’s over now,” is what you do say.

You and Magnus call one of the city guards to come and pick up your attackers, who are defrosted and taken off to the Peninsula.  Then Magnus takes you to the shop, and you have to fight him to keep him from trying to hold your hand as he leads you there.  He certainly doesn’t let you out of his sight again.

On the way home, he apologizes to you again.  You slug him in the shoulder.

“You’re probably gonna want to look at Taako’s cut, Merle,” Magnus says sheepishly.

“Why?  Looks like it’s closing up fine on it’s own,” Merle replies.

“I just don’t want it to get infected,” Magnus mutters.

“Would you chill out Magnus?” you find yourself laughing.  “It’s fine.  I’m fine.  It’s not a big deal.”

“...I just don’t… want you to feel like you’re alone,” Magnus sighs, “I wanted… shit.  I was hoping to get you to trust me more after this, but I fucked it up.”

“Mags…” you’re still laughing.  This guy… this guy was really a piece of work.  “Mags I know I’m not alone.  How could I be when you two  _ idiots _ won’t give me a moment’s peace?”

He smiles at that.  You smile too.

You don’t let people get close.

At least, not unless they’ve  _ earned _ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a few more ideas but I could always use more, I'm nekosd43/nd43taags on tumblr.


End file.
